re_alignment_logs | OPENING LOG: Awakening

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OPENING LOG: Awakening

WHO: Everybody!
WHERE: The Junk Pile.
WHEN: Right here, right now.
WHAT: Game opening! Our Heroes find themselves in a strange place not of their own world, however familiar (or not) it may be.

Consciousness is slow, and a struggle to obtain. The moments before darkness are hazy enough; a great vertigo, a twisting, and then, falling. Falling for what seemed like forever. And when you are finally aware of your surroundings, it is most decidedly not where you came from.

Instead, you are now in what appears to be a wasteland. A wasteland...of junk. Debris as far as you can see, heaped in mini-mountains that offer only so good of a view of the world around you. Perhaps in the distance, you can make out some flatter land, perhaps you can just make out what looks like a crevice - but it's difficult at best. The light here is all wrong, the two greatest sources being a white line in the alien sky that doesn't so much give off light as simply have it - and something in the south that glows like a setting sun.

You may or may not notice it at first, but you, too, have something alien - something on your arm, more likely than not. A marking that glows softly, but offers no clue as to how it got there - no pain, no sensitivity. It's simply there, as you are here.

So.

Now what?

((OOC: This is it, you guys! Have a blast! Please remember to keep everything under the first thread for now; we'll be adding the Firstforged in in a little bit...

OKAY There is now a second thread to post in! Feel free to make new threads there to react to the arrival of the Firstforged, or respond directly to the Firstforged themselves.))

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"Not as clear as I would hope," Prowl replied, never giving a straight answer. He leaps-- boosters giving a brief flare to propel him. He tucked into a curl, spun, and dropped, landing steadily on his stabilizers near the other bot before he straightened.

"Perhaps you can provide illumination. This is not where I expected to be."

He expects to be offline, his body interred on Cybertron, if he was very lucky. He doesn't believe that this is the afterlife he's supposed to be in.

Alpha Trion watched the bot's motion, paying attention to all the tiny details that told a story of their own. Two wheels...no. Three. A tricycle? Or a motorcycle with a sidecar, given the extra paneling.

"Was there somewhere you were hoping for?" he asked, conversational and curious.

"Not hoping, so much as-- accepting. Expecting."

There was no questioning the outcome when he surrendered his spark to the AllSpark cluster to fuel it, make it complete. He would be offline, and no longer animate. He would become a part of the Well of All Sparks, and join his autobot brothers and sisters in the afterlife.

He is not. He is here. This is a discrepancy not accounted for. It was going to be over; he was at peace with that. His existence for a world's salvation? A small price. Paltry, even. The math was sound. He knew it then, and he knows it now.

"I am not supposed to be operational. One might understand why I am a bit-- perplexed as to why I am here, then, instead of the Well of All Sparks."

The Well of All Sparks?

There was a strangely familiar sound to that, one that he felt the need to reference when he returned home. It had existed, he was sure...or it was supposed to exist, or would exist at some point.

Somewhere.

"Perhaps that was the reason you were brought here, then," he mused, glancing up toward the Lambda. "There may be something you are needed for. Some destiny you've yet to fulfill. There are certainly worse places to go, when you die."

"I think it would be arrogance to jump to that immediately," Prowl said, voice softening. He was one of many. A soldier in a war. Certainly, he had attained a level of discipline that was rarely seen in other bots, but--

That didn't make him special. He wasn't a leader like Optimus, he wasn't a savant like Bulkhead, he didn't have a bond like Bumblebee and Sari, and he certainly wasn't a healer like Ratchet. Part of his training had involved sublimating the self, to let go of pride, of self-interest...

Otherwise, he would never have been able to sacrifice his own operation for others.

"Do you know what this place is?" he asks, instead of pursuing through other thoughts.

"It could be," he agreed, knowing that it was dependent on the mech. "Or that could just be my roundabout way of asking for your help." He smiled. Prowl might not have considered himself significant to his world, but Alpha Trion had too many facts that pointed to most things happening for a reason.

It had been his job to record things happening for particular reasons, and he considered himself somewhat of an expert in noticing the destiny before he noticed the cause.

Or...perhaps he just wanted the company, again. So much of the surface still needed preparing for Primus.

"Of course I do." He answered, pleasant despite the depths of his thoughts. "It is my home. My Cybertron. Very likely not a Cybertron that you are used to, but...I hope that you won't find it unpleasant." He glanced around. "Once we leave the junk behind, I mean. I'm sorry if this is not the homecoming you were hoping for."

He also hopes the statement does not seem completely out of nowhere. It's your alt-mode...that is all. You were on Earth, and you were on Earth recently, if the condition of your tires is any judge.

Of course. Why had he not seen it? Recognized the sunless sky? The pulsating tear in the sky certainly mars his ability to read the stars, but does not make it impossible. He should have realize, should have known-- instead of being consumed with his own doubt at where he was supposed to be.

Something like wonder crosses his face, as he tilts his head, looking skyward, before he lets his optics track the heap again.

"A strange Cybertron it is," he admits. "But now. It is not-- unpleasant. Merely unexpected."

He is quiet a moment, and said, "I had-- made peace with never seeing seeing it again. It has been some time since I left, to pursue the truth of my master's words... to understand what it meant to not preserve the past, at the cost of the future."

And now he is here; in a past erased and a future as yet, unformed.

"What help do you need? I am Prowl. Late of a small engineering corp turned planetary guardians, and the Cyber-Ninja before that. I am at your disposal, sir-- though I would be honored if you gave me your designation."

"It is probably not what you are used to." He'd heard stories of the Cybertrons of other worlds, and they fascinated him in their familiarity. Buildings that covered the surface, towers that reached toward the sky, mechs that were so many in number they could populate and utilize all that they'd created...and war. He inevitably always heard about the war.
This Cybertron would go through that, some day.

"We have been tasked with developing it. You could say that what you're standing on is what Cybertron will someday be, rather than what it is...so perhaps this is an afterlife of sorts. A rebirth. I think that you will fit in well, here." He reached out, slowly, as if asking permission, and tapped the sigil on Prowl's arm. "Especially with this. It seems to be indicating that you and I have something in common."

"That is my glyph, and I am Alpha Trion." He inclined his head, just slightly. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

There's a brief pause, and a weighty, measuring look.

"Strange," says Prowl. "You're a bit tall for an aging Civilian Guild councilor."

Seriously, this is a bit odd. He knows that Alpha Trion's Protoform frolicked when Cybertron was young, but-- not embryonic young, okay?

"An aging what?"

His expression is one of surprise. He'd been called stubborn before, and also a recluse, but he'd never been called 'aging.' He was rather certain the mustache made him look distinguished, not old.

Didn't it?

"Councilor. You are-- well. Were. May yet become." He's not sure of the phrasing, how to parse the information. "There is a Alpha Trion in my world. He's very old, and head of the civilian guids on Cybertron."

And this is merely an odd bit of ~~retcon~~ serendipity.

"I see," he said, coming to an understanding now that the initial surprise had worn off. "And I suspect you're referring to an alternate version of myself, or maybe a potential for what I could become..." They hadn't entirely figured out which it was, themselves. The old Refugees had mentioned some startling pieces of information about them, and this was not the first time he'd been recognized.

"Tell me, I'm not that old-looking, am I?" Still, it was best to be sure.

Prowl's expression remained one of placid calmness in the face of strangeness. A Zen blankness. He watches Alpha Trion work through his confusion, as still as a frozen pond in winter.

"No," he says, and there's not even a twitch of his lips to betray even a hint of a lie, "of course not."

Alright, that earns a good chuckle from him. "That's good to know, then." Everything was good to know, really, but that was especially good, right now.

"Tell me, you use the standard integrated telegraphic protocols for long-distance communications on your Cybertron, yes?" He pulls out what seems to be a very intricate-looking datastick, with scrollwork and runes and everything.

"If so, this upgrade should be compatible with you. That is, if you'd like to be able to understand everyone you come across."

After his experiences with Lockdown, one might think he should be wary of taking free upgrades from strange older bots... But Prowl senses no ill-will to the Firstforged, and so takes the upgrade.

"Yes," he says. "It would be the simplest, I think -- and ease communication about our situation. I think it would be best that everyone understand the straights they have found themselves in."

"I suppose that I should ask if you have any further questions, then," Trion said, pleased that his Refugees were so much easier to deal with than some of his brother's were.

He took the data-stick back when Prowl was done, and considered a way to test it.

"If you don't, I could have one of my acolytes return you to my temple. There should be a room waiting for you," he spoke, this time using the ancient Cybertronian dialect that he and the other Firstforged had been programmed with. If the download installed correctly, than Prowl would still be able to understand.

A perfect understanding. Well, that's good.

"I am honored," he replied. "I am a bit-- confused, however. You were expecting us?" he asks. "Meaning you we aware we were coming. How is this possible?"

This all seems pretty damn weird, to Prowl.

Excellent. The data-program was still working, then.

"We...hm." How to explain this? The truth was always the best, of course, but...it was also a sore subject.

"We didn't know you were coming precisely, but Refugees have fallen onto our Cybertron, before. We still have many accommodations from that time, which you are welcome to."

Hmm. Well, that's unnerving. Prowl did not quite know what to make of that. Before; and that means possibly again. And they apparently had a way to track them-- since they had appeared with new glyphs, and they had information that something, at least, would be coming.

"Thank you. I would be interested to know how you track such comings and goings, but-- I must first see to other companions," to see what else had come from his world, "before I take up your invitation."

He has to go see if anymore of his team is here. Blurr is, he knows that.

Alpha Trion nods, understanding the need to know other's whereabouts. He, himself, had plenty of interest in the comings and goings of mechs...but that was, in essence, why the Link Network existed.

There was nothing that could happen, now, without him being aware of it.

To an extent.

"Let me give you coordinates, then. Your companions are also welcome to remain with you...and my halls are open to any who enjoy a bit of peace and quiet." Further testing the new installation, he would send Prowl the coordinates to his temple to the south.

"Some of them are the opposite of peaceful or quiet," Prowl mused to himself, but let it go. He can't say he's familiar with the term 'temple' either, but it was there on his map.

"My gratitude," he says simply. "Good luck in your search for more information."

He had to go see if anyone he knew was here.

"And good luck to you in your search, as well." Alpha Trion would nod, and be on his way, very pleased to have made your acquaintance.

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OPENING LOG: Awakening

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